The Boy Who Dreamt Of Wolves
by HeMustBeMagic
Summary: What happens if 'Teen Wolf' is nothing more than a delusion to Stiles Stilinski, a mental patient in Beacon Hills Institute. Reality and Fantasy start to blend together, and getting out seems even less likely than it did 17 months ago. Heck, Stiles even wonders if he deserves to be let out after what he did. But that's all about to change with the new arrival to BHI. Sterek.


_The Boy Who Dreamt Of Wolves_

_Chapter 1 – The Arrival Of A Sour Wolf_

_5:46am _

Stiles hated—no; despised waking up in the morning for more reasons than one. Something about Beacon Hills Institute had a certain chilly air to it that made his muscles ache in a way that could only be described as prehistorically stiff and made his bones feel slightly out of place. If anything, waking up made him feel like a wind up doll that had been sitting on the shelf for far too long, gathering rust and dust. It was more inconvenient than anything else.

But even the pain of falling back into his body wasn't the worst of it all. Sure, sometimes he didn't, for lack of a better word, feel like he fit perfectly back within himself. Some days were better than others, almost as if his skin bones and flesh were just layers stiches to his soul with more time and care than other days. But all of that, the emotional and the physical soreness were byproducts of his turbulent dream filled nights.

As Stiles listened to the sounds of other teenagers his age in the hallways and the floors around him scurry to get to the bathroom before all the hot water ran out, he simply let his body melt into the stiff covers that had a hint of bleach smell. The ceiling in which he stared at for hours upon hours on end seemed more cracked today. Loose and careless inspection would make one think the paint was cracking but no, there were actually small cracks in the wall that over time had splintered, slithering and molded together, making one large crack from the upper right to the lower left hand corner. Stiles would always try and guess how long the crack was in inches and then remember to measure it the next day but the enthusiasm he had the night before never carried over to the following morning. His shrink liked to whisper it was a telltale sign of his depression. Nope, it was just laziness.

A harsh bang jarred Stiles out of his thoughts and, if this wasn't something normal, would have probably caused him to jump up and scream. The bang was quick, only lasting four times before a gruff voice shouted out: "Wake up, Stiles! Breakfast isn't going to make itself."

So that was why he felt so lethargic this morning. Barely moving his body and only his neck, Stiles glanced up and over his head. The barred window showed that the sunlight was just peeking through the clouds and a pinkish and purple colored hue was beaming its way across the sky. The sunlight slowly crept across the ceiling, overpowering the darkness. For a brief second exactly half of the ceiling was covered in darkness, and half in light; a perfect sign of equilibrium. Things like that, things that were so basic but at the same time; at least in their own light so perfect interested Stiles, but not for more than a few seconds before he stood up, letting his feet collide with the cold floor and send shivers down his body. There was work to be done and work was rewarded. He needed to keep his reward.

_6:16am_

The morning routine for Stiles was always the same. Brush his teeth, then a warm long shower (or as long as he could before the water was shut down on him) and get dressed as quickly as possible. Shower time wasn't a time of the day he relished; it was more of a time when he played 'keep your head low and don't attract attention to those who were more criminally insane than you if you know what's good for you'. Mainly Jackson Whittmore and Issac Lahey. When they went left, Stiles went right. When they were waiting for their therapy appointments in the lobby, Stiles try to find a quieter place to wait. It was easier than dealing with them. So getting caught in the bathroom with them wasn't something he wanted. After the dream he had last night when Jackson turned into the scaly looking creature? Even the slight amount of eye contact made him shiver.

Jackson picked up on it though and smirked. "I know." He admitted, causing Stiles to glance up in curiosity.

"Sometimes perfection just does that to you." He mused. "Makes some girls wet, makes some guys drool; you; shiver. Nothing shameful about it."

Stiles stood there for a moment saying nothing but could tell his cheeks were growing in redness. He tried to fold his town quickly before moving out of the room, but folding seemed to be a task his body couldn't do while it was trying to cool his burning brain down. He wasn't gay. Gay guys didn't find attractive anyway, so why did the statement (more like a taunt) bother him so much? Simple. Because it was coming from Jackson.

"Oh look, he's blushing." Isaac chuckled

"Bite me, Isaac." Stiles barked. The last thing he heard as he hurriedly put the towel on and walked out of the room by kicking the door was the snickering of the two bouncing off the walls.

7:46 am

Bacon and eggs wasn't the ideal thing for Stiles. Eating it? Yeah, sure. But cooking it? That was something completely different. He learned quickly that whenever the grease; the delicious, amazing, heavenly grease, would fill into the air it would make his mouth water. That of course was fine, made him work harder and faster. A lot of the kids here seemed to act the same way. But being exposed to it for too long made a lump form in his throat. It wasn't like a clot it simply made him feel sick to his stomach. The students didn't know what went into the food; well, that was a lie. Duties all rotated, everyone knew, just no one said anything.

Hey, he couldn't really complain at least he wasn't put on orange juice cartoon duty. Last time someone got the OJ wrong a fight broke out in the cafeteria. It was brutal, it was bloody and to say the least it was hideous. Almost like that movie everyone was talking about; well at least that movie he heard the visitors of other patients discuss. _The Hunger Games_ or whatever it was called? The author must have visited Beacon Hills for inspiration_. The Hunger Games: Breakfast!_

A small chuckle came from his lips, shifting his weight as he carried the second round of bacon to the assembly line. He wasn't the only one there who had a look on their face like they were somewhere else. People usually drifted off during their duties. Daytime chores always seemed to be more the most boring and have the highest responsibility. High risk and low reward; like everything else.

"There's nothing to laugh about, Stiles." A peeved, quick sharp voice said from the side. The girl who stood next to him, brown hair cascading down with big seemingly innocent eyes snapped. She wore the matching hair bonnet, gloves and white coat he did, except for some reason it looked letter on her. EVERYTHING looked better on Lydia. She could be wearing Sarran wrap and she's look like a model. Watch out, America's Next Top Model.

"It won't be funny when you're the one everyone blamed for the food fight this time. How many people died last time?" She asked. She gave him a narrow glare before turning around and serving a young girl her food. Okay, so Lydia was exaggerating Stiles knew that. No one died. But everyone knew why she was here. Histrionics and Attention Disorder seemed to be a light thing compared to others until you met what else Lydia was hiding.

"Exaggerating again." He muttered quietly to himself, low enough that only he could hear. He should learn to keep his mouth shut more often. It would be useful to him. It was funny though how here; the girl was so much different than his dreams. That own thought caused an internal debate within Stiles. Really though? Was anyone that different? Jackson played lacrosse in his dreams; here, he was good at beating people's faces in with clubs, hence what happened during the "Hunger Games: Breakfast Edition". The similarities were there, but they weren't blatant. For the next 15 minutes or so of serving food, Stiles was on autopilot trying to think what his shrink would call this. Emotional reference? Victimization? The delusion of being unable to determine dreams from reality?

Thanks to his long drawn out mental debate about what exactly delusion was and if he had it, it took Stiles more than a few seconds to realize the sound of thrashing and snarling that came from the other side of the room. Late like always, this one was. It took a few seconds for his mind to focus on the dark haired and scruffy (Stiles tried to find a better word to describe the man, but he really couldn't) patient into the room. He was wearing the game grey and white jump suit the rest of them wore but for some reason he had a strange look on his face. Angry, disgusted, vengeful…and…feral.

But the way his biceps bulged as the guards forced him to sit, or the snarl he made that was almost too good to be faked wasn't what distracted Stiles the most and completely caused him to tune out to the sounds of bacon burning in the background. It was the same that Stiles was 100% sure he had seen that face before. It was quick, and honestly it was getting harder for him to remember because he was positive he only saw the face once or twice. He hadn't been out of this place in the past year and a half. He had never seen this man before, he wasn't one who came and left like some patients did. In this world he was positive he had never seen the man.

But in his dreams, he was sure he had. In his dreams, the man was something else. More composed stoic and definitely brooding. Words he didn't and couldn't apply to the man now. As the guards forced his arms in front of him and chained them to the table he still struggled and thrashed about like a wild animal. In the world of his mind, the world his shrink said he fabricated completely of his own to deal with what he did, this man's name was Derek.

For some reason, he preferred the term sour wolf more.

It didn't matter though. Quickly he was distracted into remembering the bacon was burning and the thrashing patient became no more than another boy in the room.

"Welcome to Beacon Hills." Stiles muttered quietly as he flipped a pancake. He smiled up to the bored face of a patient.

"More bacon?"

A/N: Hey guys, so here we go. The first chapter of "The Boy Who Dreamt Of Wolves". Sorry if it's a little scratchy, haven't written fan fic in a long time. Hope it was at least an interesting chapter 1. I tried to set the setting of this world up more, I've dive into the connection with the show and this world and such as the story goes on. Characters that are in the detention center have disorders that might not match what you think they should be. I take some creative liberty on that one. Updates will be updated every Monday by 12:01AM EST. They might come earlier, but IDK. Comment, flame, suggest, do whatever just read hope you enjoy! I apologize for typos!


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